Seasons In The Sun
by Psalm 136
Summary: It was ironic, really, that Rodney was the first to die.


**Title: Seasons in the Sun**

**Author: Psalm 136**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Unfortunately.**

**Summary: It was ironic, really, that Rodney was the first to die.**

**Author's Notes: This is based on a song called "Seasons in the Sun" by Westlife, and I just had to write a oneshot about it.**

Irony was a bitch, John thought bitterly.

It was autumn on Earth, but the chill in the air spoke of the coming winter. All of the trees were bare, and their crumpled, dead leaves littered the ground. Every so often, a particularly harsh breeze displaced them, and other than that soft sound, the world was silent. And with the lonely Air Force colonel the world seemed to grieve. The skies were overcast with dark, forbidding storm clouds, and in the distance, the first ripples of thunder were growing.

John Sheppard was standing alone in a cemetery, somewhere in Canada. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black sweatshirt, and a baseball cap was pulled over his eyes. He stood as a lonely specter of those who should have died as he studied a familiar headstone. John wasn't really sure why, but the simplicity of it seemed to fit the body that was buried underneath the cold, hard earth.

Somewhere in the distance, more thunder rumbled, a harsh death knell that brought John back to the present.

Irony was a harsh bitch, John reiterated to himself.

"_Are you sure this is safe?" Rodney asked as he started dubiously at the native food._

_John rolled his eyes. "Rodney, I am sure it's fine. Look – Ronon's eating it and he's fine."_

"_It's good." Ronon commented as he dug in heartily._

"_Oh, yeah, the Caveman enjoying food. He has an iron stomach; he's not a basis for comparison!"_

_Teyla smiled, enjoying her food, but not as obviously as her Satedan friend. "Rodney, there is no need to be worried about the food. It is very delicious, in fact."_

_John smirked smugly. "Thank you, Teyla." He decided not to acknowledge her eye roll. Instead, he turned his attention back to Rodney. "Come on, one bite. If you don't eat your dinner, you don't get any dessert."_

_Rodney glowered. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny." He muttered before digging into his food as well. It might kill him, but he was hungry after the long trek from the Stargate. This was another one of those bust missions. No action, no puzzles to solve… Rodney's version of semi-paradise. Sheppard was a little bored, but, Rodney smirked to himself, that was probably because the chief's daughter looked like the south end of a cow going north. And the rest of the local female gene pool wasn't something to be proud of._

_That next morning, SGA-1 was packed up and ready to go. They thanked their genial hosts with honest gratitude, but paused before starting off towards the Gate. There was some angry shouting in the distance, and it was getting closer._

"_Oh, no." The chief mumbled._

"_What?" John asked. He had one of those sinking feelings…_

"_It is our rivals, the Haratiri. Warriors!" The barrel-chested chief caught the attention of his warriors, and left to make preparations. _

_Within two minutes, the Haratiri attacked. Sheppard had kept his team in the village, knowing it was safer around more people than in the forest where tree-savvy natives could easily hide and overtake them. The battle between the two groups of primitive natives was more gruesome than any gunfight. _

_Spears were thrown left and right, and natives turned on their own brothers, using an unsuspecting 'friend' as a shield from an arrow. There were even crude swords that sliced a person open, spilling their innards onto the ground, but not killing them with one blow._

_Sheppard, out of the corner of his eye, thought he had seen a pale-faced scientist go down, but he was too busy with a crazy native of his own to be sure. The thought and nagging fear in his gut was put aside as he focused on his own battle._

_By the time the battle was over and he, Teyla and Ronon had found him, Rodney McKay was dead, felled by a crude spear._

If he was honest, John had thought he would die first. He was in the military, so it made sense. But Rodney had been on his team, the frontline team, and it was a risk John had taken when he asked the scientist to join him. But McKay… he was one of those annoying people who just wouldn't die. He'd gotten shot in the ass with an ARROW, not to mention all of the other things he'd gone through, and he hadn't died. John hadn't thought crazy natives would have been the reason Rodney McKay died.

But natives were the reason Rodney was dead. Oddly enough, John didn't really blame himself. He had been in the heat of battle and had been focused on not getting himself killed so he could effectively lead his team. He trusted that Rodney, Teyla and Ronon could take care of themselves. But there weren't any words that could really explain how he felt about losing one of his teammates, and, if he was honest, one of his best friends.

John was bitter. Rodney had been one of the most brilliant men to ever live, and he had so much to offer the universe. It didn't make sense that McKay would be the one to die. John could have died, and it would have sucked, but there were thousands of competent soldiers who were aching for their own command. There really wasn't anyone that could replace Rodney McKay.

John sighed, his breath coming out in a puff of mist, and he shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets. It was cold out today. It didn't matter to him. He needed to resolve something in himself. Maybe he did need to forgive himself, because maybe part of him did blame himself for Rodney's death. Maybe he needed to prove that he did care about McKay. He'd spent most of his time baiting the scientist to get him to react. Maybe he was scared that Rodney hadn't really known he cared.

Sure, it was a twisted, odd friendship, but it had been friendship. They would sit together at meals and Rodney would rant and rave about his incompetent staff, listing off their most recent failings, and John would say something about how maybe it was Rodney that was incompetent. Rodney would reply arrogantly, and it would continue in that vein. When John was worried about the survival of Atlantis, he would go to Rodney's lab. McKay always knew what he was trying to do, and shoo him away with an egotistical answer that satisfied him.

Now, staring at the headstone, he wasn't really sure what to feel anymore.

**Meredith Rodney McKay**

**1968 – 2008**

**He reached the stars.**

John wasn't sure what to say. It felt right that he should say something, as he had spoken at Rodney's funeral. His eulogy had been brief, to the point, and emotionless. He had stood in front of Rodney's friends and family, dressed to the nines in his dress blues, and had tightly locked away his feelings. He couldn't bring himself to cry in front of all of those people. He had grieved privately in the safety of his own room.

At a loss of the right words, John took a step back and performed the cleanest salute he could manage, trying to ignore his shaking hands. It was the best form of respect he could think of. He lowered his hand to his side, and then looked at the headstone once more.

"See you later, McKay." He said quietly.

A few weeks later, Major General Jack O'Neill spotted the name 'Sheppard' on a resignation form. He paused, and then wearily signed off on it. He knew the feeling of losing someone so close that it felt as though you, too, were dying with them. But he'd be back, Jack told himself. He simply would.

But he was wrong. John Sheppard bought a used car from a Colorado dealer, and picked a road and just drove. He was unknowingly headed to New York City, and once he arrived there, he ditched his car and walked into the depths of the city. He was never seen again.

**...**

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